The Blonde Hair, the Lies
by JamesLuver
Summary: It's the unknown that's frightening her.


**A/N:** Um, hi! Super nervous about this. It's the first time I've written outside my main fandom for four years. Sorry it's super rambly.

Initially I was hesitant about finishing and posting this since I saw that **SapereAude03** had published a fic about the same scene, but after I contacted her about it she encouraged me to carry on writing it and post it. Any similarities are coincidental as I didn't want to read her fic before finishing mine.

That said, I R&R'd it this morning before posting this. _Crumbling Foundations_ is truly excellent, so if you haven't read it yet, please go and do so!

I do have a few more ideas for Bob/Helen oneshots (a couple of fluff, a couple of hurt/comfort), so maybe I'll write them sometime.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own _The Incredibles_.

* * *

 _The Blonde Hair, the Lies_

That evening, dinner is a quiet affair. Knives and forks scrape like clanging bullets against the plates, each member of the family lost in their own thoughts; the only sound outside that is Jack-Jack's innocent burbling as he kicks out his legs in his high chair. Violet is her usual quiet self, keeping her own counsel, a true mystery to Helen. Dash is sulking because they've had another argument about him trying out for sports. And Bob…well, he's almost as distracted as he's ever been, glancing at the clock every few seconds and keeping his gaze down the rest of the time.

Helen studies him.

Her heart beats a sickening tattoo in her chest, her stomach lurches. She's never been one to scare easily—before the kids, at least—but she is frightened now.

It's the unknown that's frightening her. Looking at her husband, the man who has shared her life for over fifteen years, she wonders, for the first time in a long time, how well she truly knows him after all. She'd been secure in the knowledge—proud in the knowledge—that she's always been able to read him. His frustrations were always palpable, his joys fierce and profound; a big personality to match his bulking frame. Their married life has never been perfect, but she's never wanted perfection. All she's ever wanted is honesty and trust, and she's always been content that she knows her husband.

Except, if she's truly honest with herself, she doesn't, does she?

Even before…this, there had been lies. The police scanner hidden away, the bowling nights with Lucius…

But they were things that she could handle. With fury, yes, and indignation, but they did not come as true surprises. Because Bob has never made a secret of how much he misses hero work, how unfulfilling family life seems to him. That hurts her more than anything—that she and Violet and Dash and darling little Jack-Jack are just not enough for him—but she's always known it, and she's been living with it for the past God knows how many years. At times it has withered her inside, in her darkest moments made her wonder if they are just papering over the fractures in their marriage, if they're fighting against a tide that will inevitably consume them and break them apart.

And yet she's never stopped loving him. As pig-headed and frustrating as he can be at times, she has never ever stopped, and she has kept herself warm by telling herself that he feels exactly the same way. That this is a momentary blip and he will come to his senses, realise what's important, and put the past in the past. She'd _thought_ that that was what he was doing.

But now…

Now there's the blonde hair.

"Mom?" Violet's quiet voice drags her out of her agonising contemplations, and she swivels her head round to look at her eldest child.

"What is it, sweetie?" she asks.

Violet looks at her with those blue eyes, quietly analysing. The look unnerves her slightly; her eldest child, still so young herself, carries herself in a way that is beyond her years, a puzzle that Helen thinks she could spend years poring over and would never work out. Vi has always been more sensitive than Dash, who is his father's son right through to the bone, and Helen suspects that she understands a lot more than she ever lets on. No doubt melting into the background as she does gives her an oversight that neither of her parents can truly grasp.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

"I'm fine, honey," Helen says, hoping that she sounds calm and reassuring even as her insides tumble about like jelly. "Finish up your dinner, hmm? Have you got any homework to do afterwards?"

Violet shakes her head.

"What about you, Dash?"

"No!" he says, flashing her a winning smile, the one that lets her know instantly that he's lying to her. The first time that Bob ever saw it, he'd laughed and told her that she pulled the exact same face when she was untruthful.

"You'll do your homework as soon as you're finished eating, young man," she tells him firmly now. "I can't take another trip to the principal's office this year for bad behaviour."

"Aww, man," Dash whines, ungraceful in defeat, and stabs moodily at his food. As soon as he's finished eating he pushes his plate away and races out of the room. She ought to scold him—the less they use their powers, the better—but she doesn't have the heart to, not now, not when she feels so sick herself.

"Do your homework," she calls half-heartedly after him. Violet pushes her plate away in a more sedate manner.

"May I be excused?" she asks.

"Sure," says Helen, and watches her leave, hunched over as if she's trying to protect herself from a world that wants to collapse down around her. She hates seeing Violet like that, wishes for the millionth time that there was something she could do to ease her burdens.

But she can't. The powers they have mean that there will always be some kind of weight on their shoulders.

Jack-Jack's happy sounds remind her that she still has a duty to do. Pushing away her own plate, not hungry herself, she dedicates the rest of her time to getting Jack-Jack's mush into him. He alone seems to enjoy the meal, those innocent blue eyes staring adoringly up at her. When that task is completed, she scrapes her chair away from the table and begins to gather up the dishes. For the first time all meal Bob stirs, blinking owlishly around.

"Where are the kids?" he asks.

"They're done," she replies shortly. "I'm just going to clear up here."

"Let me help," Bob says hurriedly, pushing away from the table so hard that it slides several inches over the floor. He swears under his breath and pulls it back to its proper position.

Helen forces a smile. "No, that's okay. Why don't you go and pack for your conference? It'll save you a job later."

Is she imagining it, or is there a flicker of guilt in his gaze? It's gone before she blinks, and he bestows his own smile upon her.

"Thanks, honey," he says, leaning over to press a kiss against her forehead before stumping out of the room. Helen waits until she hears him creaking about above her head before moving slowly towards the kitchen. She takes her time doing the dishes, staring sightlessly out of the window at the darkness beyond. There are so many dangers lurking out there. She'd never expected that they'd creep quite so close to her own doorstep.

* * *

The rest of the evening passes painfully slowly, and Helen finds that she can't concentrate on anything. The flickering of the TV is meaningless. The kids squabble in the background, but she can't make sense of what's going on. Bob, in his newfound enthusiasm, offers to go and sort it out for her—and succeeds. There's the usual scuffle about getting Dash into bed on time, but Bob masters that too. Under other circumstances, it would have made her laugh. All she can do now is sit with a book open on her lap, not taking in a single word. At intervals she turns the page over, just to make it seem like she's actually reading, but in her mind she's playing over that woman's husky voice, Bob's own reply, the undercurrent of excitement in his tone unmissable.

" _How soon can you get here?"_

" _I'll leave tomorrow morning."_

" _See you there."_

Abruptly, she stands up, throwing the book down; it misses the coffee table and hits the floor. Bob looks up, startled.

"I'm going to bed," she says. "I'm tired."

"I'll come too."

"No," she says, too quickly. "Stay here and finish watching what you're watching. I'll see you up there."

Bob tilts his head to one side as if he's trying to figure out if that's what she really wants, and she turns away from him before he sees the truth of her agony on her face. As a Super she was used to pulling on her mask and becoming Elastigirl; now she has to pull on an invisible one, if only to protect herself.

Her nightly ablutions take longer than usual, her limbs moving with a heavy lethargy that has nothing to do with tiredness. Once she's settled in bed, she turns off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. It presses in on her eyeballs, more threatening than ever. She draws a shaky breath, curling her fingers tightly in the bedsheets.

Half an hour later, Bob lumbers into the room. She lies as still as she can, trying to regulate her breathing so it appears that she's asleep. She hears him clean his teeth, use the bathroom, splash water onto his face, and then he's sitting down on his side of the bed, the whole mattress sinking underneath his hulking frame. She tries not to stiffen as he gets himself comfortable in bed, draping his arm around her waist as is customary. Usually it brings her such a sense of security. She's always loved being in his arms like that, swallowed by his massive frame. His bulk has always lent itself to a sense of invulnerability, his steely strength a thing she's always counted on.

But a man isn't just his physical strength, and they can be vulnerable in other ways.

"I love you," Bob whispers into her hair, his breath hot against the back of her neck. He presses a gentle kiss there, grunting as he buries his face into his pillow. Minutes later he's fast asleep; she can tell with the way that he twitches and breathes, over fifteen years of being his bed mate attuning her to all of his most intimate secrets.

She squeezes her eyes closed and the tears trickle from beneath her closed lids, running down the side of her nose and down her chin. It's going to be a very long and painful night, made even worse by having Bob by her side. A part of her wishes that she could slip out of the sheets and take the spare room with Jack-Jack, but that would raise far too many questions should Bob wake—even after their worst arguments, they've never not shared a bed. She's trapped. Here, in this bed. Inside her own head. She wants to scream.

She settles instead for chewing her lip, turning her head into her pillow.

The hair could have got there any way, she tries to reassure herself. Women work at Insuricare—it could have come from someone leaning over his desk to get a closer look at his computer, entirely innocently. But even that conjures up images of a slim, gorgeous blonde leaning provocatively over him, her blouse open just enough to give Bob a peek of what's inside, and her stomach roils anew. The voice she'd heard on the other end of the line is the kind that doesn't know what innocent is. _If_ she's turning Bob's head, then she's doing so knowingly and enjoying every second of it.

Helen wriggles onto her back with great difficulty, heaving a fretful sigh as she glowers up at the dark ceiling.

She should probably give Bob more credit. _Trust_ him. He is her husband. But there have been too many lies over the course of their marriage and what is one more in the great scheme of things? She's always known Bob to be righteous and rigid in his code of honour, but that was before they were forced underground. Before all the late-night arguments in yet another new home, same old, same old. In the days of Mr. Incredible he was funny and quick-witted and suave. Up until two months ago he was tired and disengaged and buckling under the weight of his yearning for the old days. As Elastigirl she was sharp and playful and vivacious. Now she just nags and warps under the pressure of trying to keep her beloved family from fraying at the edges.

The conference gave him a new lease of life and, instinctively, she knows that the hair is linked to these conferences. A perfect circle, she thinks, touching her wedding band.

If there _is_ a conference, that is. But there has to be. She doubts Insuricare would give him time off. Either way, what does it matter? In the dark, images flicker before her. Of Bob bored out of his mind during the day, but his night significantly improving as he meets up with Platinum Blonde for a romantic candlelit dinner, the tension and anticipation crackling between them as the night draws on…

She shoves Bob's arm away, tosses violently as she thinks of the mystery woman swathed across his massive chest, the sheets draped around her in a devastatingly dishevelled way.

"Honey? What's wrong?"

Bob's voice issues through the darkness, thick with sleep. She stiffens. Her arm-throwing must have woken him.

"Nothing's wrong," she says without missing a beat, the perfect actress.

"You've been huffing and tossing since the moment I got into bed. Is something bothering you?"

So he hadn't been as asleep as she'd thought. A chill shudders through her at the thought that he's seen her weak. She doesn't like showing weakness, not even in front of Bob.

"No. Just one of those nights I suppose." She pauses, takes a deep breath, then adds tremulously, "I'll miss you." That, at least, is one truth she can tell him. It does not encompass a third of what she truly feels—terror, anxiety, as if her whole world is balanced on a knife edge—but it's the most she can say. The mattress squeaks as Bob's immense frame shifts closer to her. His arm drapes heavily over her hip.

"I'll miss you too," he tells her. "But I'll be back before you know it."

"Yeah," she manages weakly, but wonders how much longer that will go on for. What if…?

No. She can't even bear to contemplate it.

And things have been going so well for them over the last two months. The pay rise coming with the new responsibilities has been wonderful, allowing them to finally replace a few things around the house which have been looking worn. He's been engaging with the kids for the first time in a while—really engaging with each and every one of them, tailoring himself to each of their specific needs, and it had made her heart swell and spill with love for him, and relief too that he was finally understanding what he was missing out on.

There have been improvements in their own personal lives too. They haven't been arguing as much as they were. The sex has always been, well, incredible, but it had petered out a little with the day-to-day stresses and the arguments over police scanners and familial responsibilities. But since Bob had returned from that first business trip…

Helen shifts, suddenly uncomfortably aware of Bob's proximity, of his hand on her hip. His enthusiasm for her had sparked a conflagration, had stoked something deep inside her. They've always been good together in that way—his perfect woman, he'd breathed in her ear one time, sweat-slicked and sated, because with her he could truly be himself in every sense of the word, both Super and secret identity laid exposed for her to see. Back in the glory days he'd had his fair share of female attention—hell, even when he'd irritated the hell out of her, she'd always been able to see why women were drawn to him like magnets, with those bulging muscles and that lean, lion-like frame and those baby blue eyes—but he'd never really done too much dating in the real world, confessing to her one night that the thought of accidentally losing control and hurting someone had plagued his dreams and prevented him from making any meaningful connections. He'd been like that with her, too, until she'd reminded him that she could not break in his arms, simply mould to what he needed her to be. The look of sheer wonder on his face after their first time had stayed with her, and she'd mapped his features out with her fingers, pushing sweat-soaked hair from his forehead, silently marvelling in turn that this was the first man she'd known who had ever wanted to get to know Helen Truax and not just Elastigirl. Falling in love with him had seemed inevitable from then.

And they've never, ever had a problem with their sex life since, she thinks fiercely, defiantly. They have three children, for God's sake. By all accounts people should know that, what with the age gap between Vi and Jack-Jack, their happy little accident. It's always been good, and she's never been given any indication that Bob thinks any different. And with the way that he's been carrying on lately, coming home from work early to whisk her to bed before she has to pick the kids up from school, staying in bed longer than he should in the morning because he doesn't want to quit the warm cocoon they've created, waking her in the early hours so that they can make love whilst the children slumber on oblivious, his breath hot on her face as he whispers in a harsh, exhilarated tone that she has to keep quiet because otherwise they'll be scarred for life, while she bites at his shoulder and prays that it's enough to muffle the inadvertent sounds of pleasure that escape…

Bob's lips brush the side of her neck now, and the contact makes her jump.

"Come back to me, honey," he murmurs.

"What?" she manages.

"You're miles away. I can practically hear your thoughts whirring. You haven't got anything to worry about, you know."

If only she did know.

Why? Why would he do something like that to her? Bob isn't cruel or vindictive; he knows that an…an _affair_ would destroy the foundations of everything they've built together.

In the glory days their relationship was intoxicating, she can admit to that. The flirting and the glib jesting and the arguments rife with sexual tension had all added to a fevered anticipation, and she had found herself longing to run into him on her superhero duties; things had been no different when they'd gone out as their alter egos. But these days they have less in common; their arguments are monotonous and tired and leave them cross with each other instead of enamoured. She's been forced to bury Elastigirl deep inside, a sacrifice she had been more than willing to make for the sake of her family, but Bob has found it much more difficult to do the same. It's ironic, really. Before they'd been driven underground, having a family had not been on her immediate radar. It had been something that Bob had wanted.

But she has been the one to keep their family together all these years and she wonders now, sometimes, in the darkness of night, if he ever regrets getting into this situation. If he did not have a family to worry about and provide for, he could have been as free as a bird, fighting crime from the shadows and damning the consequences. If the NSA had to get involved, well, he would have led a nomadic life, moving from city to city to quench his desire to do good. He does not have that same luxury now, with each mistake having a catastrophic effect on the kids. Especially on Violet. Helen will never forget the look of betrayal on her daughter's face when they had told her three years ago that they'd be moving to yet another new city, tearing her away from the tentative friendships she had just started to make.

Perhaps the blonde is a coping mechanism against that, a way of chasing a sense of adventure that he never gets in his day-to-day life.

"Honey?"

"Sorry, sorry," she mutters. "There's just a lot on my mind, that's all."

Bob's hand sweeps lower, tantalising. "Maybe I can help you with that."

He presses his mouth behind her ear, his body pushing up against the curve of her backside in that delicious way she has always loved.

But it's different now. Using all of her flexibility, she wriggles free of him, stumbling as she falls out of bed. Bob pushes himself up on an elbow. She can't see his expression in the darkness, but she hears the frown in his voice. "Helen?"

"I'm sorry," she repeats, babbling. "I'm just…I'm not in the mood."

"Well, that's okay," he says. There's a tinge of disappointment there, but he's not displeased. He rustles about, and then the room floods with light. Helen blinks to disperse the spots that erupt at the sudden change. "Are you sure there isn't anything I can do to help? Maybe bring you some warm milk?"

She looks at him. His face is soft with concern, the lines of worry deepening. How she loves that face. The soft, open kindness is a comforting constant, and she has come to depend on it so much over the years. Now, on the brink of losing him, it needles keenly at her, the fact that she needs him so much.

And how can he look at her like that and not feel anything for her? He's told lies over the years, but never about things like that. He's not an actor in that sense.

Of course, love and desire are two different things, and they can exist independently. She's not been immune to desire in her time. Hell, she's broken her fair share of hearts. No one had ever been able to hold her attention for long. Her focus had been on fighting crime and making the world a better place. Relationships had been a brief, pleasant distraction, and had burned themselves out like supernovas, the freshness wearing off all too soon. Bob was the first person where love and desire had collided; it was a revelation to her that she could smoulder with need for someone and also want to spend hours simply lying there with them, truly getting to know them. Perhaps…perhaps that's what's happening to them now. Things are morphing; Bob loves her because she is the one stable thing in a life that is constantly changing and beating him into submission, but she doesn't excite him in the same way that she used to. No one is immune to the passage of time, and she is certainly no exception. Bob hadn't been either, until recently. But now…

Now everything is niggling at her. The weight loss, the working out…he'd told her that he was getting in shape because he wanted to feel better about himself, and she'd believed him…but what if there's an ulterior motive? What if the getting in shape has everything to do with the devastating blonde? She's probably gorgeous, supermodel thin, nothing like Helen is. She was always curvy back in the day, but Bob had always liked that—or so he said. He'd liked being able to grab onto her waist and ass, had liked to have something to hold on to if she'd rolled on top of him. In turn, she'd loved Bob for Bob; she'd loved him because he was kind and soft and caring. She'd loved him because he was, despite the cocky façade, more than Mr. Incredible, as she'd told him that he had to be on their wedding day.

These days he's a good father. Protective. Hardworking. Loyal. Or so she'd thought. The fact that Bob's body has changed over the years has never bothered her in the slightest; as far as she was concerned, there was more of him to love, to hold onto, to be protected by. And, since her own weight gain, she had felt…secure. The baby weight she'd put on when pregnant with Jack-Jack has not shifted; her hips and thighs are wider than they've ever been. Sometimes it shames her. It's certainly why she's taken to wearing baggy clothes, in the hopes that it won't be too noticeable. But she'd never thought that it bothered Bob before. Perhaps that was stupid. She'd assumed that because she didn't care, neither did he, that loving him over a number of years had matured what had started off as an infatuation into something pure and unshakable, that he looked past her flaws and loved her for the woman she was, curves and all.

So maybe he does love her. Maybe he just doesn't desire her in the same way. Which contradicts the way he's been acting towards her—the constant overt affection, the amazing sex—but perhaps he's imagining that she's someone else. Her stomach curdles.

"Helen? Honey, you're scaring me now."

She shakes herself; Bob is staring at her with renewed concern, and she has to nip it in the bud. She can't have him probing too much. She can't crack. Not now. She'll only end up confessing all…and right now, she doesn't think that she's strong enough to watch her husband's face crumble and break as his lies are brought to the forefront. She isn't ready to know the truth. Not yet. When this business trip is over, that's when she'll face it. Until then, she has to keep things together, be the dependable wife she's always been. She has to trust that Bob is still the man she married.

"I'm just tired," she says at last. "I'm sorry, honey. I don't know what's wrong with me. Hold me?"

"Of course," he says without preamble. "Come here."

She slides back into bed beside him and he hooks her to him with that strong forearm, anchoring her tight to him, and she finds her body moulding to his in that painfully familiar way as his broad chest shifts against her back. He's so warm and comforting, and she presses against him that little bit harder than normal, her fingers finding the back of his hand and weaving through his. He presses another kiss to her shoulder.

"Try and get some sleep," he murmurs. "And don't worry about anything." He nuzzles against her, all affection. "We're Supers. What can possibly defeat us, eh?"

"Yeah," she replies without feeling, because not even Supers are immune to the calls of the heart. She holds him that bit tighter, waiting for dawn to come, as his breathing deepens behind her and he begins to snore.

* * *

It comes with muted birdsong. Bob rises, showers, then dresses himself in his pristine suit—the one that's now missing a telling blonde hair. Helen slips on her worn robe and goes downstairs to make him breakfast whilst he finishes getting dressed. He'll be gone before the kids wake. At least that's one blessing. If she has to shed a few tears in the aftermath, at least they won't witness them. She'll be strong and dependable when they rise, but right now she feels like an island lost at sea, and she knows she'll need a few minutes to ground herself.

Bob eats quickly and downs his coffee. He's going back into himself, distracted, restless. He keeps glancing at the clock, and she can tell that he's itching to go. To leave her behind. To become someone who isn't Bob Parr, husband, father. Her hands shake as she tips the pots into the sink.

"Right, I ought to get going," he says after his last mouthful, snatching up his briefcase. "I'll see you soon." There's an undercurrent of anticipation in his voice, and it hurts to hear it. Still, she tries to plaster on a smile.

"Okay, honey," she says.

He comes over to her, draping one arm around her shoulder as he dips down to kiss her. It's chaste and brief, and she wonders if it's the last time that she'll ever kiss him.

Bob pulls back, grabs his car keys, and heads for the door, pausing only to put on his sunglasses. Helen remains rooted to the spot for several seconds, but forces herself to go after him. She watches as he gets into his car, her feet dragging like leaden weights as she follows. She studies his face in profile, those sharp, handsome features she loves so much, and feels the hollowness anew. She can't be losing him. She can't.

The emotions threaten to overcome her, and she takes a deep, unsteady breath, trying to steel herself.

"Bob?" she says softly.

"Yeah? What's up, honey?" He's still not looking at her, preoccupied as he angles the rear-view mirror.

There are so many things she should say.

 _Please don't go._

 _Tell me her name._

 _Think on what we have._

 _Choose us._

They all die in her throat.

She takes another deep breath and bends down, peering in through the open window. "Ha-Have a great trip." She's embarrassed by the wavering in her voice, the quiver that tells more than it should. But the emotions are a violent vortex inside her, eating away like a cancer, and she cannot escape them.

"Thanks, sweetie. I'll call you when I get there." He's already looking over his shoulder, eager to get away.

"I love you." She pauses for a beat. "So much." It's the only compromise she can make, the most truthful thing she can tell him. Because she does. No matter what he might have done, she loves him. She does not want to live her life without him.

Bob lowers his glasses slightly. "I love you too." His tone goes up a little at the end, as if he's surprised by her words. Maybe that's what this is. Maybe she doesn't show it enough. Maybe she's pushed him into someone else's arms. Maybe the damage is done.

Maybe this is yet another lie in a web that's tangling itself around the both of them, draining them bit by bit.

She doesn't have time to analyse it further. Bob leans out of the car and she leans in automatically, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek and breathing in the clean scent of his skin one more time. And then it is over; he reverses out of the driveway and goes without another look back, tyres squealing a little, leaving her alone on the porch wondering just how different things will be when he comes back…

…If he comes back at all.


End file.
